The Conquering of Barzun
by enchantrez
Summary: Determined to secure the inland kingdom of Barzun for Tortall, Jasson the Conqueror vows that not even the Barzi queen, Amayrha, will stand in his way.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_For centuries, the inland kingdom of Barzun has stood proudly in its sovereignty. While geographically smaller than Tyra (considerably so!), Barzun has historically maintained an indifferent harmony with its bordering neighbours (Scanra, Galla, Tusaine and Tortall) through deliberate seclusion._

_Even more remarkable, the land there has flourished and thrived, despite its mostly mountainous terrain. From what I gather, the reason for such agricultural good fortune lies mostly with the doings of the Barzi Songstresses: those ladies of Barzi nobility able to nurture the land through mystical song. These Songstresses are revered amongst the Barzi, and serve not only as a tangible link between the land and its citizens, but as a sign of favour from their patron goddess, Hestya._

_But alas, I write of the past… of a golden Barzun._

_More recent times have seen the kingdom battered and dangerously weakened. Tusaine and Galla have broken the indifferent peace and persistently antagonise the small nation with their aggressive military tactics. The crops and orchards have failed for yet another season, regardless of the hard work done by those Songstresses. There are even dark rumours that Hestya has abandoned the people, and many Barzi have crossed the nation's borders in search of a better life – some forced by sheer necessity, others voluntarily._

_Discontentment, it seems, is no longer a stranger out of place in Barzun._

_Yet, despite this tarnished existence and fall from grace, the Barzi people have (for the most part) clung to their traditions, of which I can only describe as a wondrous amalgam of utopian ideals and ancient matriarchal culture. The Barzi, for instance, continue to elect their queen, a time-honoured custom originating in an era before even the Book of Glass._

_Their current queen, Amayrha Tyorelle, is a lovely little thing. All grace and charm – a good deal of beauty as well. But, I believe only a fool would dare to underestimate her._

_Only a fool would be blind to the strength behind the enchanting smile, or to the burning determination and keen intelligence. Only a fool would forget that this queen, this young lass of barely twenty, has kept her battered country together and away from the edge of civil war._

_I've heard whisperings that Amayrha is one of the strongest Songstresses ever to be born; a natural queen if there ever was one. It's a pity, they say, that she wasn't born a generation or so earlier._

_Perhaps then, Barzun might have a stronger chance of surviving the Conqueror's imminent strike come this spring…_

**_-- _Extract from the private musings of famed historian, Desmund of Hepthistle, written in the winter of 377HE following his brief stay in Barzun.**


	2. Ch1: A Meeting of Rulers Pt1

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DISCLAIMER _(for this and every chapter herewith)_:

_I am not Tamora Pierce, nor do I claim any of her known characters, places and related matters thereof. Although the country might not sound very familiar, even Barzun is a TP creation (it's mentioned in the prologue to Trickster's Choice (2003, Gosford: Scholastic Press)), though I have taken liberties in its geography, customs and culture. I'm going to trust that it'll be clear which characters are of my creation and which are not._

_So with all those formalities and legalities out of the way, on to the first chapter…_

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Chapter 1: A Meeting of Rulers – Pt. 1.

_Delfurrn, capital of Barzun, in the spring of 378HE._

"Your majesty?"

Queen Amayrha of Barzun, of the ancient house Tyorelle, turned away from the balcony to face the owner of the tremulous voice, her usually expressive face betraying none of the inner turmoil she had been lost in just moments ago.

"The Conqueror has arrived, and is waiting for you in the Great Hall."

The grim feeling that had been building inside of Amayrha for weeks suddenly expanded at the servant's words. _He's here. He's here. The Conqueror is finally here._

Uneasy with the strange stillness that had overcome the young queen, the servant again broke the silence, "Your majesty? Do you wish to receive him, or should I tell him you're… indisposed?"

The last was said in a pitch a touch higher than normal. Despite the bleakness of the current situation, Amayrha allowed her lips to curve oh-so-slightly in a barely discernable smile, amused despite herself at the servant's obvious hope that she would not be asked to convey Amayrha's refusal. It seemed the servant had an instinctive fear of displeasing the Conqueror, no doubt having heard much of the man's ruthlessness.

Known by the moniker of 'Conqueror' within a mere year of his coronation, the Tortallan king was indeed a force to be reckoned with. In recent years, the Conqueror had become the dark fear living furtively in the hearts of most monarchs throughout the realm as kingdom after kingdom along the Drell River fell before him. Of them all, Barzun was the last to remain sovereign. It was this knowledge that had caused Amayrha many a sleepless night, and just as many nightmares as well.

Brought back to the present by the nervous hovering of the servant woman, Amayrha hesitated for the briefest of moments then squared her shoulders and ordered, "No, that isn't necessary. You may bring him to me here." Unspoken in her instruction was the message: _I am queen here and will meet this Tortallan savage on my own terms!_

As the servant curtseyed and took her leave, Amayrha turned back to the balcony, and gripped the intricately engraved marble balustrade with both hands, the action finally revealing the tension she felt. _Hestya, give me strength to see this through_, she prayed. If a small voice in the back of her mind laughed cynically at the hastily thought prayer to the goddess, she did her best to ignore it. _The rumours are unfounded… there's no truth to them. _It seemed that that had been her mantra for far longer than she cared to count.

Suddenly aware that that she was beginning to lose feeling in the lower part of her arms, Amayrha sighed and gentled her grip accordingly. Almost absent-mindedly, one hand rose to restlessly tug at the oddly shaped lapis-lazuli and peridot pendant she always wore, seeking the comfort it usually brought her. The other brushed gently against the wilted ivy atop the balustrade, and with one simply sung note, she brought instant succour to the pitiful plant, making it lush and dotted with ivory coloured blooms once more.

Those unfamiliar with the ways of the Barzi would have declared such a feat miraculous and incredible, unaware that it had been mostly instinctive and was, in fact, only a very small demonstration of Amayrha's true power. As a Songstress blessed with the Talent of Song, Amayrha was capable of far more than a simple green working of ivy. The Song meant that a Songstress could bind her will with the earth, and when it was used, the Songstress _became _the land and the land became _her_. It was said that the Song was a gift from Hestya, the goddess of Song and Joy and long rival to the Great Mother Goddess, to her chosen people: the Barzi – specifically, to the daughters of the nobility. From a time before even the Book of Glass, Songstresses throughout Barzun had used the Song to nurture, heal and encourage the earth, despite the country's mountainous terrain. Viewed as the tangible link between the people, land and Hestya, Songstresses were revered in Barzun, and accordingly, tradition had long decreed the ruling queen be the strongest Songstress.

From the moment of her birth, everyone knew that Amayrha Tyorelle would certainly be queen one day – and with the number of queens house Tyorelle had produced, that itself wasn't entirely surprising. What _was _unexpected was the same level of certainty felt by all that Amayrha would be a queen to rival even those long immortalized in legend. The Songstresses present at her birth were astounded at the sheer amount of raw Song emanating from the tiny babe, and in the years following, Amayrha simply continued to astonish. By the time she had completed her training at the tender age of fifteen (three years sooner than average), the old queen had practically thrown the ancient diadem at the adolescent whom to which it so clearly belonged to, and wished her the best of luck.

While the old queen's parting remark could have been construed as resentful given her successor's youth, unrivalled power and beauty, Amayrha had never doubted the sincerity behind it. Looking out now at the view of Delfurrn offered by her position on the balcony of her Dome Garden, she wished that she had had more of that luck in the five years she had held the throne.

By all accounts, Delfurrn had always been a city full of colour and bustling activity, but in the past century or so, the capital had become a dreary cityscape with weary citizens. Even the royal palace, which had long been admired for its superbly hewn white marble and bright bronze trimmings, showed signs of exhaustion.

Unfortunately, as Delfurrn transformed for the worst, so too did the rest of Barzun. The fields and orchards that had for countless generations grown happily on the mountainous slopes had become mutinous and grumpy, despite the tender care and coaxing of the Songstresses. Well-accustomed to prosperity and abundance, many people had become surly at the sudden downturn, and in the space of a couple of generations, Barzun's population – which had never been that significant in the first place – had dwindled considerably. Some had (or were) leaving in search of greener pastures, while others felt forced beyond choice. Of course, it hadn't helped that the indifferent and unspoken peace between Barzun and its neighbours had been broken by the aggressive attacks launched by Tusaine and Galla. The persistent rumours in recent decades, that Barzun had lost favour with its patron goddess, were similarly _un_helpful.

In short, despite the power Amayrha possessed – which was the most _any _Songstress had ever had – even she couldn't do much to break Barzun's unexplainable misfortune, though she had time and again drained herself trying. Amayrha knew that her people, those who had stayed loyal to the country and tried to weather the grim times, silently regretted that she hadn't been born in an earlier generation when she might have had a greater chance at turning the tides of ill-luck. Given the competent ease at which the young queen had, during her first few months as queen, stomped down the threat of civil war that had been punted by outsiders as an inevitability, it was hard for many (Amayrha herself included) not to indulge in imaginings of what she could have achieved as queen in a different time.

It was these very _what-if's _that tormented Amayrha, for all the serenity she showed the world.

It was these _what-if's_ and the responsibility in her dual roles as both Songstress _and _ruler that had changed her. That had turned her from the girl of unguarded smiles and spontaneous laughter she once was, to the straight-backed queen standing on a balcony overlooking her tired realm. It was no wonder that Amayrha's eyes, described by one of her suitors long ago as "green as the tropical rainforests of the Copper Isles", held a shadowed depth to them that was a mix of determination and weariness.

The past few months had brought on more of the latter, though she did her best to hide it. As her mother and grandmother had repeatedly told her during childhood, her position as queen meant that she was Barzun's heart and the people's spirit. Tired though both might be, duty demanded she stay strong. _Always_. Never mind that some days were simply harder than others. Never mind the dark whisperings that the Conqueror had set his hungry gaze on Barzun. Never mind the foreboding feeling that had stalked her since first hearing of the Tortallan's intention.

For Barzun's queen, there was no reprieve, not truly.

Mentally shaking herself free from her maudlin thoughts by giving her pendant a hard tug, Amayrha let out another sigh and frowned.

_Songs, how long does it take the oh-so-legendary Conqueror to climb a few sets of stairs?_

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A/N: **_**Alright, so that's chapter 1 done and over with. I've had this one written up since the start of May, so I'd dearly love hear what some thoughts are regarding it. **

**Also, thanks muchly for the reviews. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I actually only posted the prologue first so that I wouldn't lose my nerve, and to stave off any more second thoughts… The reviews were definitely not expected, but were just as definitely appreciated!**

**Specifically, to my reviewers:**

**Heather the Writer: **Ta for your encouraging words – I have no doubt that I'll recall them in future whenever I have need of inspiration and confidence.

**Angel of Death1: **I'm glad you've liked this so far. Hopefully, I won't disappoint!

**Highway Wench: **Thank-you for your point about Amayhra. After looking up what 'Mary-Sue' meant, I definitely don't want my female lead to be type-cast as such. That said, I also don't want to lose any of her strength either, and I guess it's that balance that I'll need to keep aware of while I'm writing future chapters. As for your question regarding POV, it'll be mixed-third-person – some chapters will centre more on Amayhra rather than Jasson (and vice versa); others will have equal parts Amayrha _and_ Jasson. There won't be any more direct first-person stuff though.

**Impatient Griselda: **Hehe, good point. I had a good reason for using 'lost', but after spending the past fifteen or so minutes trying to explain myself, I've decided that my original rationalisation was needlessly complex. So voila, 'private musings' it is!

_--Enchantrez_


	3. Ch2: A Meeting of Rulers Pt2

**Chapter 2: A Meeting of Rulers – Pt. 2.**

_By the gods, was this bloody place entirely made up of stairs?_

Jasson of Conté, current King of Tortall and the Conqueror feared by many, cursed under his breath as he climbed what to him seemed like the umpteenth staircase. For good measure, he cursed the servant who had conveyed the queen's agreement to meet with him. Had the servant woman not looked at him with barely disguised terror, and had it not been for his current mood (which was a mix of impatience and the residuals of adrenaline from the previous day's skirmish), Jasson would have tried to reassure the silly female enough for her to show him to her queen. Instead, he had growled at her and ordered that she stop her quivering and give him the blasted directions, that he would find _her majesty _by himself.

Being the legendary Conqueror that he was, Jasson was a brilliant strategist who possessed a particularly keen mind. He was also extraordinarily observant, and during the short ride from the palace gates to the entrance of the Great Hall, he had immediately deduced that the palace – a bronze-trimmed white marble masterpiece of elegant turrets and graceful spires that seemed to surge right out of the very mountains it stood before – was as much a rat's maze as his own back in Corus was. As such, he should have realised that finding his way around the unfamiliar palace using directions from a terrified servant wasn't the best of plans.

He should have also realised sooner that he did have a voice and could in fact simply _ask _another servant to show him the way. Entering yet another corridor gilded here and there with bronze and spotting a servant boy approaching from the opposite direction, Jasson barked out, "You there! Take me to the Dome Garden. Your queen is waiting to see me."

The red-headed and freckled boy stopped, looked behind him then to either side, approached him cautiously, and asked, "Were you talking to me, my lord?" Jasson fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Was the boy daft? Of course he was talking to him! _Save for the two of them, the corridor was empty, and from what Jasson had seen, it wasn't as if the rest of the palace was a bustling beehive of activity either.

Making an effort to be slightly less fearsome, Jasson removed the bite from his voice and tried again, "Yes, indeed. Your queen is expecting me, and I'm… not too _sure_ where the Dome Garden is. Do you know where it is? Will you take me there?"

To Jasson's incredulity, the servant boy boldly stared at him, trying to determine whether the foreign giant posed a threat to his queen. Apparently, the boy was under the mistaken impression that _he _was the twenty-five year old man and _Jasson _the ten-year old lad.

Gritting his teeth, Jasson ground out, "I am the King of Tortall. I have matters of state I need to discuss with her majesty."

At last, the boy gave a nod, briskly walked past him and started back down the stairs Jasson had just climbed. A bit pertly, the boy called out, "Come on, it's this way. By the way, the name's Kavin"

As Jasson walked somewhat resignedly alongside Kavin, he couldn't help but note four things. One: that the walls themselves seemed to emanate both tiredness and a restlessness. Two: that the interior of the palace was worn, even though he could see it had been magnificent and resplendent once. Three: that there seemed to be a lot of plant-life inside, ranging from small pots of wild plants growing on top of a grand fireplace to a flowering vine that had crawled through one of the palace windows and wrapped itself around a statue. And four: that there didn't seem to be anyone other than servants in residence, which seemed strange, since it was the third week of spring and the corridors should have been teeming with power-hungry nobles – or with plain hungry nobles, since the noon bell had only just tolled.

Busy with his observations, he almost ran over his guide when Kavin abruptly stopped at an arched gateway hung with some sort of gauzy green material. Scowling, the boy told him, "Wait here. I'm going to announce you first." In a flash, he disappeared through the gauze. It wasn't long before Jasson heard Kavin's voice, brightened now by an enthusiasm not present before, say, "Your majesty! Guess who I found for you? Go on, guess!"

Bristling at the term 'found', Jasson snarled silently, but then to his surprise, he heard a voice that was melodically feminine say, "Oh? Did you find me something, Kav? Hmm… let me guess. Was it a mad polka-dotted bull? Perhaps a dangerous and smelly ogre? Wait a second; don't tell me you found my mad great-uncle Rhemus?"

Boyish laughter mingled with the queen's own. Jasson frowned. He had assumed that the Barzi queen was a woman of matronly years, but the dulcet laughter he'd just heard sounded much too young to support that assumption! Curious, Jasson slipped stealthily through the gauze, careful to remain in the shadow cast by a couple of nearby columns.

Though Jasson was decidedly _un_interested in horticulture, even he had to admit that the queen's garden was amazing. The Dome Garden, so named for the beautifully panelled glass dome that stood in place of a regular ceiling, was a lush paradise of medium size – no more than seventy feet from the entrance to the balcony. It was filled with ferns and other verdant vegetation, the supporting columns wrapped tightly by dark green and gold vines. Flowers of virtually every colour were rampant, growing wherever they could, while a large hexagonally-shaped fountain gurgled serenely in the middle of the garden. All in all, the lushness of the queen's apparent inner sanctum was a bold contrast to the dried and rocky landscape he recalled riding through early this morning.

"Well, if you didn't find that bull, the ogre _or _my poor uncle, who _did _you find for me?" At the queen's voice, Jasson scanned the garden, looking for Kavin and the queen herself. When he finally found the two, he couldn't help but stare in simple appreciation. _Gods, she was lovely!_

The Barzi queen stood in front of the grand balcony, leaning against the balustrade as she jested with Kavin, with whom she seemed to have some sort of friendship with. Though Jasson still stood (more or less) at the entrance to the garden, he could see that her face was gracefully formed and held an elusive sweetness that was rare. Still amused by Kavin's exuberant entrance, the queen's vivid green eyes were alive with laughter, her lips curved in the most enchanting of smiles. Her hair was the colour of rich mahogany and it, along with the deep russet of her simple gown, emphasised the ivory of her skin. One delicate hand played with a pendant hanging from her slim neck as she waited for Kavin to remember who it was he had to announce.

Deciding that the impertinent boy's wits had become addled by the queen's loveliness, Jasson cleared his voice and moved forward, his stride purposeful. He ignored the fierce glare Kavin aimed his way (the servant boy indignant that the foreigner had ruined his chance to impress Amayrha!), focused only on the young queen. As he came closer, Jasson ruefully noticed that a guarded and shadowed look had come to replace the laughter in her eyes. No doubt she had already pieced together who he was and the reason for the meeting.

Pausing less than five feet before her, Jasson gave a slight bow, straightened, and announced with supreme confidence, "Kavin 'found' me, your majesty. Jasson of Conte, King of Tortall." Casually, he added, "You've got a nice garden."

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Laying a soothing hand on the shoulder of the still glowering Kavin, Amayrha couldn't help but feel a little incredulous at the Conqueror's off-hand comment. After weeks of grimly preparing herself for this meeting, had the Tortallan giant truly complimented her _garden_?

Noting the slight smirk on the Tortallan king's face, Amayrha scowled and immediately lifted her eyes to his, determined that he not unsettle her further.

However, upon doing so, whatever disbelief she felt at Jasson's words was nothing compared to the shock that ran through her body at the very unexpected realisation triggered by the colour of his eyes. _Such a startling sapphire blue_…

Stock-still, Amayrha mentally traced over Jasson's features, noting the strong jaw and proud nose, and pausing at the area to the left of his mouth, sure that if he were to laugh now, she would see a slight dimple there at once. A memory from a time long ago reminded her that he had hated that dimple, complaining that it detracted from his manliness.

Slightly unnerved by her stare, Jasson ran a hand through his thick black hair that he wore a bit longer than convention approved, hoping that the Barzi queen wouldn't be as skittish as her servant woman had been. His movement caused her eyes to once more lock with his.

Kavin stood between the two, no longer glowering but hugely curious instead. He held his breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

When one hand once again rose to clutch at her pendant, a dazed Amayrha took a deep breath, and wonderingly said, "Jace? Is that really you?"

Jasson frowned, baffled at the shortened use of his name since no-one had called him 'Jace' for years, not even his closest friends or family. Mithros, he had only just met the Barzi queen, and he was already feeling more confused than ever!

A wind from the city breathed through the garden, causing several of Amayrha's richly coloured curls to fall into her face. Distractedly, she pushed them aside, inanely wishing she had braided her hair instead of letting it fall freely that day.

It was the brief flash of exasperation in her eyes that did it for Jasson, which made him suddenly understand. As a heavy feeling settled in his stomach, he grimly made a mental vow to replace his current spymaster for not being able to collect the intelligence that would have prepared him better for this meeting_ – _for _her_. "Gods damn it, Myra?"

And as Kavin looked from one to the other, wondering who 'Jace' and 'Myra' were, the two rulers were flooded by memories.

Memories full of the innocence and bright laughter of youth – and of carefree friendship…

Amidst it all, both had no doubt that the Trickster God and his cronies were laughing with glee somewhere in the Divine Realms.

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A/N: **_**Apologies that this update took a good while – May was a terrible month for me, all full of torturous practicals (and even more painful statistics) that needed to be written. However, I **_**am **_**happy to report I submitted the last of those on Monday and have also stopped dreaming about researching, doing factor-analysis, ANOVAs, referencing etc. Thankfully. Only exams to worry about now!**

**Anyway, enough with the excuses. Ta once again to those people who reviewed the previous chapter – they brought a smile to my face and I really appreciate the feedback. Thanks also to the others who have read my fic and added to the number of hits. It sounds silly, and I should probably be begging for more reviews, but hey, it's reassuring to know that there is at least some interest in Jasson and Amayrha's story, and that the whole idea isn't a total flop. Always a good thing to confirm every now and then, I reckon! :-)**

**Heather the Writer: **I'm pretty new (if not embarrassingly green) to writing fiction, so your reviews have been pillars of support! I was worried that I'd been painstakingly descriptive, so I'm particularly glad that you liked the descriptions and detail. I'm planning on keeping that same level of detail throughout; although if it ever gets too tedious, please let me know – I'm still trying to find my 'style' of writing.

**Tierchen: **It was awesome to read your review – definitely not an annoyance! You sharing your thoughts on how the rest of the story might unfold was a huge compliment, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter since it focused more on Jasson. Also, to answer your question, I have had chapter outlines planned since late April, and I know how I want to conclude Amayrha and Jasson's story. However, those outlines are mostly guides and open to change (which I found even as I wrote them!), so even I can't say with absolute certainty until the epilogue what will happen. Whatever may pass, I just hope that I end up writing a story that I feel honestly proud of and which people have enjoyed.

_--Enchantrez_


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